


Dead (Alive)

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: The Lone Gunmen, continued... [1]
Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byers' thoughts on life after (during) life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead (Alive)

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original TV-series belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only. No offence or copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Hope you like it. I will try to write out the Gunmen's saga in similar bits, hopefully, slowly piecing together the whole picture.

***

 

Frohike was probably the first one who brought forward this idea that they were, for all intents and purposes, dead. It was most likely in a conversation, in the weeks before they set out searching for Langly or shortly thereafter, when Langly was briefly some other place. Frohike had said something to the like of:

“If we’re stuck here till the end of eternity, then how is it different from being dead?”

Byers was shocked just for a second; he distinctly remembered everything inside him sort of scrunching up and wincing in pain, then thought about it for a moment, shook his head and remarked:

“Well, we are not really stuck here, Frohike. We only have to maintain a low profile…”

“And how is that different from being “stuck”? ‘ – Frohike was becoming angry and his bushy eyebrows were moving close together, - “We can’t get on a plane, we can’t have bank accounts, we can’t receive mail and we can’t go to any public place where we can be recognised! Byers, when was the last time you actually drove a car?!”

Byers was again taken aback a bit. He blinked slowly:

“Frohike, that’s…. that’s got nothing to do with…”

“We even have tombstones, Byers! Have you yet visited your own grave?!”

Byers dropped down his look, Frohike threw his hands up in frustration and that was how that conversation ended. 

That was a long time ago.

Byers hadn’t really forgotten.

It was always sort of in the back of his mind. Deadalive. The living dead. 

He tried to have this conversation with Langly earlier – but very, very early on and Langly didn’t seem to quite get him, in fact, Langly was downright weirded out and offered to get in touch with Scully to see if Byers began suffering from some type of mental distress. Byers also considered talking this out with Mulder but thought better of it for Mulder always had his own share of deep and less than pleasant thoughts. And Jimmy simply wouldn’t be able to relate. 

So that was how years passed. 

Until one day when Byers was sitting at his table in their big livingroom – the only room that their cabin consisted of – and quietly doing his work, when he heard Langly chuckle softly. Langly had been on the computer behind him.

“What?” – Byers asked neutrally, without even looking up.

“Your hair”- Langly responded. 

That had Byers turning. Langly was sitting in his chair, twisting around to look at him.

“What about it?” – Byers instinctively ran his hand through his do.

“It’s uh…” – Langly suddenly dropped his gaze with an embarrassed smile. It took him a couple of moments, - “No, it’s uh… it’s just… it’s going grey... right there” – He pulled at his own disheveled knot of blonde fringe.

“Yeah?” – Byers ran his fingers again through his hair, shrugging his shoulders, - ‘I guess it is…” – he continued looking at Langly.

“No, I just… I just thought, that’s good. You know, as opposed to… As opposed to if you were going bald, like Skinner.”

That had Byers chuckling and Langly producing a relieved smile. Byers smiled too. The light from the window that Byers was sitting in front of, was hitting Langly in the face and dancing in his blonde hair, making him look almost angelic if not for his ever so wickedly mischievous eyes. 

Byers asked:

“And what if I was bald like Skinner?”

Langly thought for a moment, then briefly drew the corners of his lips down and responded:

“Well, then I guess I’d have to get used to that.”

And that was when something turned in Byers, something somehow shifted in his brain, the kind of feeling that a thoroughly myopic person might get, perhaps, when putting on corrective spectacles for the first time. 

Langly had never considered himself dead, or living dead, or deadalive or any of the other terms that Byers like to describe himself in the privacy of his own head. Yes, maybe, being stuck 24/7 in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere in Bryans Road, Maryland was a lot more normal for Langly than it was for Byers since Langly had lived and breathed computers his whole life and rarely went outside. But there was something more. Their lives had changed significantly on that one day all those years ago, but unlike for Byers, for Langly it was just that - a change. And eventually, maybe even a good one, if Byers had to also consider how their personal relationship had evolved. 

And if he had to reflect on it critically, he would have to admit that Langly was never really distressed by their prison-like living. Yes, sure, he whined here and there about wanting to go bowling, or drinking in a proper pub, but those were minor things, they were nothing like Frohike’s thoughts that they were, for all intents and purposes, dead. 

Unlike Frohike, who plunged into depression, Langly actually fared well in Bryans Road. He slowly organised his nest – a Langly corner by the wall furthest from the window, distinguished by a wallpaper of posters of bands Byers knew nothing about, set up a massive concoction of wires and monitors, figured out a secure connection through countless proxies and procured a programming job which he could easily do without revealing his identity. He rather enjoyed nighttime walks in the park that their cabin was embedded in and he frequently dragged a whining Byers with him. He routinely entertained Byers by either setting up minor pranks on his computer or randomly sending him messages and jumping avatars when they were working on long winter nights. He learnt to cook, albeit slowly and with great effort, but he could make a killer omelet that Byers always enjoyed. And recently, more often than ever, Langly was taking a short break in the middle of the day, unprompted, and making Byers a cup of tea. 

Because Langly was living. Confined to a few square feet of their cabin, Langly was more alive than many people who travelled the world. Langly could take the deprived environment they were locked in and turn it into a place Byers never wanted to leave. Langly didn’t focus on what they couldn’t do, like Frohike, Langly took what was available and made the best of it. He was great at improvising. He was tenacious. He was stubborn; and in the ominous face of isolation, he gave Byers a sense of normalcy, a sense of connection and love. 

And the problem, Byers thought, was not in their confinement, but rather, in his very self. That he, perhaps, had become like many people of this world, a living dead, who noticed nothing about himself, endlessly wanting things he didn’t need, to see places he wasn’t interested in, to meet people he didn’t care to get to know. Because in truth, if he had knowledge that any one day would be his last, he’d spend it exactly like he did any other day – in peace and quiet, together with Langly. 

Byers put his pen down and walked over to Langly’s chair. Langly gave him another embarrassed smile and turned back to his computer, but Byers placed his hand on Langly’s shoulder, prompting him to turn around once again. 

“I still have to finish this…” – Langly eeked out meekly, but Byers was smiling and Langly really couldn’t help it as his eyes focused on Byers’ lips. 

And it was in Langly’s cool breath on his face that the living dead was no longer, and in every atom of their surrounding, a soft late-April ray of sun, soft hum of Langly’s computer and the soft velvet of Langly’s hand over his, Byers was being and doing exactly that which he wanted to be and do all his life.

He was living. 

 

***


End file.
